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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937015">confession</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinuviel_tinuviel/pseuds/tinuviel_tinuviel'>tinuviel_tinuviel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Ascendance Trilogy - Jennifer A. Nielsen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, also some guilt and grieving... it's a rough time for them, confession of love, pining amarinda, pining tobias</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:09:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinuviel_tinuviel/pseuds/tinuviel_tinuviel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two days since Amarinda and Tobias heard reports of Jaron's death— two days of silence, of uncertainty, of rain, of walking back toward Drylliad. Two days of steadfastly not saying what absolutely should not be said.<br/>Tobias' resolve is fraying. So is Amarinda's.</p><p>Takes place during The Shadow Throne.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amarinda of Bultain/Tobias</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“We need to find a place to sleep,” Tobias said to Amarinda. They were crouched against the rough trunk of an old oak whose canopy offered them some protection from the rain, but the directionless brightness of the stormy afternoon was fading fast. They couldn’t go much farther today. It was two days since they had heard reports of Jaron’s death. Two days since they turned back to Drylliad on foot, pushing through thickets and stumbling through bogs and trudging through gravelled washes. Two endless, miserable days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was relieved when she stirred, and even more so when she responded. “It’s not nightfall yet,” she said, her voice hoarse. “There’s enough light to push on.” It was more words than she’d strung together all day. He had never seen her dishevelled like this— hair matted, eyes puffy, cheeks wet with more than rain. But she stood slowly, offering him her hand and helping him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you want to get to Drylliad as soon as possible,” he said. “But you’re exhausted— we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> exhausted.” She looked ready to protest at the first part, but her face softened at the second. He knew he was right, by the slope of her shoulders and the weakness of her hand’s grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carthya needs a leader,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you need rest,” he said gently. “It’ll be easier to continue tomorrow, once it’s stopped raining.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When we find a place to sleep out of the rain, we can stop,” she conceded. As they continued down the hunter’s path they had followed for the last few hours, she didn’t take her hand from his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncertainty ate away at him. There were moments when he was certain that Jaron was still alive— Jaron, wily as a snake, who had gotten himself out of a thousand scrapes and cheated death before, and that they should continue to Bymar as though they hadn’t heard the insidious rumor that surely, surely wasn’t true. And there were moments when he believed that his friend was dead and his body now lay in the hands of his enemies, and Tobias thought grief would stop his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he’s really gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have to ask who. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s always been so clever,” she said. “I can’t imagine fear or foe that could best him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I certainly never could,” Tobias said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he saw her smile. She ducked her head, hair falling past her shoulders. “I never tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were wiser than me, then. You knew not to hope for a victory that was out of reach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet I hope against hope that Jaron still lives.” Thunder rumbled, sounding in his bones. The path was trod to mud beneath their feet. “If he lives, he may not return to Drylliad for days, or weeks. We must organize defenses and keep up morale, and find some other way to get word to Bymar of our need. Perhaps by sea, if a swift ship can be found.” For a moment, her voice was strong. This was the Amarinda he knew— weaving strategies and weighing plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The undergrowth grew thick and tall, and Amarinda paused by a patch of elephant-eared shrubs that shielded the ground beneath with their massive upturned leaves. “This looks as dry of a spot as any,” she said, and unclasped her cloak. They no longer had bedrolls, or any food to settle their growling stomachs. Spreading the cloak beneath the leaves, she crawled into their chosen shelter, but instead of lying down she tucked her knees to her chest and watched the rain fall in the dying evening light. He sat beside her. “I don’t want to go back if he isn’t there. It’s going to be so quiet.” He felt her sigh rather than hearing it, her shoulders falling against his as she exhaled. “When I first heard rumors of Darius’s death, I didn’t believe them either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart clenched. He’d forgotten that this wasn’t the first time she’d suffered such a loss. “Saints, Amarinda, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so tired of losing those I love,” she said, her voice choked, and then she began to cry. Tobias turned to hug her and she buried her face in his shoulder, shaking. Even his own grief couldn’t compare to the ache of seeing her so hurt, and he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his cheek to her damp hair, praying to every saint that somehow, impossibly, Jaron had survived. After a moment she collected herself, struggling for breath as she pulled away, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m so sorry, Tobias. You have lost as much as I have—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was horrified by the guilt in her voice. “Don’t apologize.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you lost a dear friend—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you lost your betrothed,” he said, ignoring a twist of pain at the word. “I don’t think any less of you for grieving. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip, then said, “Jaron asked me to marry him before we left.” His heart sank, for no reason he could put words to, and he thought suddenly that he didn’t want to hear what she was going to tell him, didn’t want to know what they had admitted to each other in that last, private conversation before she left Drylliad. But he could tell that she needed to say it, so he remained quiet. “Right then, before we parted ways. In case— he feared something like this would happen, I think. He didn’t want to leave Carthya without a ruler. He never asked for our betrothal— wanted it even less than I did. But he was good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you didn’t marry him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Amarinda whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did— did you love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” It was fully dark by now. Around them, rain still fell, and the occasional drop found its way through the leaves overhead to land in his hair. Amarinda shifted, finally lying down, and he did the same, spreading his cloak over both of them. They didn’t touch, but he could feel the heat of her body radiating through his skin anyway. His weary muscles slowly relaxed. He thought maybe Amarinda had fallen asleep when she said, “Have you ever been in love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, the devils were being cruel. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was happy when I was with her,” he said. If he were wise, he would have changed the subject; if he were clever, he would choose his words so carefully she would never guess of whom he spoke. But he wasn’t wise or clever, just aching and exhausted, and he had never wanted to lie to her. “I had heard stories about being in love before, but they finally made sense when I met her, in a hundred silly little ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before, I guess I thought that when you were in love you spent time with the other person to be kind, so they feel secure in your love. But it’s not like that— it’s not about giving your time because it’s not about you.” It was hard to put into words, but harder to stop. He was dangerously close to revealing himself. “I’m so helplessly happy when I’m with her that it’s the only place I want to be, even when everything else is wrong. And I love her laugh. When I make her smile it feels like I’ve made the sun rise.” He bit the inside of his cheek before he could say more, feeling like he might cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you marry her,” Amarinda said fervently. “You deserve that kind of happiness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lump in his throat grew too big to let him answer, almost too big to breathe. Everything inside him felt like a mixed-up, molten mess. He was almost shaking from the effort of not reaching out to touch her— because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was wrong, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that his unspoken wish must die in silence, and yet the voice in his mind, dogged and selfish, insisted that her touch alone would ease his pain, like a saint healing a beggar at the palace gates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stirred, rolling over to face him. “I have to tell you something. Please don’t think badly of me.” As if he could. “I think— I think I’m in love, too,” she whispered. She said it like a confession, like this was some terrible fact. “But I’m too late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With Jaron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice was barely audible above the rain. “With you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words stunned him like a physical blow. In the distance, thunder rumbled. He thought for a second that he must have misheard her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>With you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Had she— </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m in love, too. With you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had thought so much of loving, and so little of being loved. How could he respond? How could he possibly respond? “Amarinda, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect anything of you,” she said desperately. “I know I’m still betrothed to the king of Carthya, and I don’t know if Jaron’s dead or alive, and you’re in love already. I had to say it, but if you don’t want me to say another word until we reach Drylliad, I understand—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears that he had held back for two days now escaped. It felt like the world had turned on its ear. “I love you,” he said, bewildered, blessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s you,” he said. “Amarinda, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” All her breath left her. “Oh,” she said again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he knew that tomorrow they might be caught and killed, and the kingdom might fall to ruin around them, but for one stolen moment, it didn’t matter. Somehow, she loved him. Somehow, she was here, beneath rain-drenched leaves, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And under his damp cloak, he found Amarinda’s hand and squeezed it tightly.</span>
</p>
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